October 1 / Hagalsan 9

  “Mother,” Elestrin prayed at her mother’s tomb. “Marilla and I are leaving for the capital tomorrow, so we will not be able to be here on your anniversary. Please watch over us in our travels. Father says that I will need to make a marriage this winter, so I may never have the chance to speak to you like this again. Please, lend me your wisdom, and guide Father so he makes a choice I can live with.” I still miss you, Mama; I miss your warmth and unconditional love. I want to make a home, like you did, full of that.

  Only she, Marilla, and Aunt Yora were present. Not even a slave or guard intruded on them this day. It was disappointing that Father, at least, did not come to share the memorial meal with them. He hated to show weakness to anyone, even those closest to him. With difficulty, Elestrin put him out of mind; she knew he grieved in his own way.

  She rose from her knees and gently placed a bouquet of roses on her sarcophagus. “If I never return here, please know that I will always love you, miss you, and constantly look to your example. I pray that you are proud of me.” Father has not been the same since you left us, Mama. She dared not speak this aloud. Should I look for a wife for Father? I am sixteen and still unattached, nearly a spinster. Father needs an heir, and I am unlikely to bear one.

  “Is this a betrayal of Mama?” An accusatory voice asked. “Are you just eager for littles that you know you will never have the chance to have on your own? Are you doing this for your own ends or are you truly so caring of a man who never paid any mind to you until it was time to find a wife?”

  “Silence!” she ordered her consciousness. “Mama, is this the right path? Light, give me a sign.”

  She turned away, discreetly wiping tears from her eyes. I don’t even know who to speak to about this. Father is out of the question, and Aunt Yora has her own problems. She did not even notice she was crying, fat silent tears, until Aunt Yora spoke.

  “It is good to remember those gone to the light before us, my dear.” Aunt Yora placed a hand on her shoulder, leaning against her niece by law. “But you must also look to the future. Your mother understands; she too once had to leave her family to come here. She has always been proud of you. Trust in the Light, and all good things will be given to you.” She rubbed her thickening belly, and shifted her stance slightly. Marilla took her place, and she waited for her younger sister to finish.

  After a short while, Marilla finished, and placed her own flowers on the grave. “I wish I could remember Mama better,” she said, rejoining them. Tears stained her cheeks, and Elestrin wordlessly pulled her in close, reaching up to stroke her little sister’s back.

  “Aunt Yora, you knew Mother best.” Elestrin said, grief still in her voice, as she opened a basket and placed before them the traditional memorial foods—wheat boiled in honey, fluffy yeast bread, and red wine. “What can you tell us about Mother?”

  Yora watched them silently, then began, “Ione swept into Gastap like a fresh spring wind. Your great-grandfather arranged the betrothal…”

  Hours later, it was time to leave. Elestrin had at least regained her surface composure, and Marilla happy to have heard new stories of their mother. Yora waited for the girls to start ahead, then turned one last time to the grave, and bowed slightly in respect. “Ione, I do not know what is troubling Elestrin. Likely difficulty finding a proper husband. I promise, I will do what I can for her, and for Marilla when the time comes. You have wonderful daughters.” If only Elestrin would confide in me. She does not have to bear her burden alone.

  ~*** *** ***~

  October 6 / Hagalsan 14

  The Barugala River began at Cathalburg. Built on a low bluff where two smaller rivers converged, it had long been the economic, military, and political capital of the northern Duchy of Durrou. Elestrin walked a measured half-stride behind her uncle Diemon to pay respects to the ruling duke, Cathalan VII of House Durrou.

  She had met him once before, when he’d toured the duchy three years ago on his ascension, and she found him much the same. A little shorter than normal, thin, and sallow-skinned. Only thirty-two, he was one of the first born after the Dragon Wars to ascend to his father’s position, and many years ago, there had been talk of wedding her to him or his younger brother.

  But as she aged and grew no taller, all talk of wedding the great-granddaughter of the Marshal of the North to the Ducal house had faded. Now, she would once again meet her former fiancee. They would be his guests for three days while the barges were prepared for their journey down the river to Rolnburg.

  Durrou’s great hall could hold over a thousand, but today held far fewer. The court nobles, slave scribes, and guards all told, numbered less than a hundred as she and Unce Diemon kneeled smoothly before the duke.

  “Halfblood.”

  “Shorty.”

  “Collar-less slave.”

  “Dwarf slut.”

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  She heard the whispers of the courtiers, saw the sneering dismissals, felt the withering glares. Thank the Light, Marilla will never have to endure this. Her sister, already six inches taller than her own four foot nine, was with Aunt Yora as she recovered from the carriage ride down the road.

  “Rise, Manor Knight Diemon, Lady Elestrin.” Cathalan finally spoke; he’d forced them to wait on bended knee much too long given their family rank and power. She sighed inwardly at the further insult. Father and Grandfather had not covered the house in glory these past thirty years. “Why, Diemon, have you abandoned your fief at the height of raiding season?”

  “May I ask the source of those craven accusations?” Diemon asked in return. “Or are you merely repeating baseless whispers, My Duke? My immediate liege, Baron Brantly, has tasked me with escorting his daughters to the capital where they will spend the winter.”

  Silence from the hall. “And if I told you to go back?”

  “As soon as you have provided a suitable replacement for me, I would obey the lord of my lord. Your brother would do nicely.” Now Cathalan was in a bind. Either he graced House Gastap with his own blood as escort, or he acknowledged his mistake.

  “My brother,” the duke finally spoke, shifting uneasily in his throne, “is currently occupied with other tasks.”

  Elestrin breathed a silent sigh of relief. Corvus had a terrible reputation. She could handle his insults, but Marilla was less restrained. “My father sends his regards, Your Grace,” she stepped forward, curtsying gracefully. Her hair was piled high, making her shortness less noticeable, and a dwarf slave had constructed shoes to give her a few added inches. Taken together, she looked of almost normal height. “He suggests that if you or nearby Houses have family members heading to the Solstice, it would make sense to travel together. While brigands and magic beasts are rare on the Barugala, they are not unheard of.”

  Uncle Diemon smiled at her, a slight twitch of the mouth, as she changed the subject. “That is not the worst idea in the world.” Cathalan admitted.

  “If any would take my brother on his generous offer, come and let me know privately.” Diemon spoke, as if the Duke had given permission for the scheme. Together, he and Elestrin had maneuvered the duke into owing Gastap a favor. The size depended on how many took up the offer, but there were always minor knights and nobles, even hard-up baronies, who could not afford the trip to the solstice festivals, and the single most important marriage negotiations in the realm—the winter balls.

  Cathalan grimaced. He recognized too late the trap sprung on him. He at least did not have the ill-grace to countermand his implied consent. “When do you plan to embark?”

  “The doctors say my wife needs at least three days to recover, but we are aiming for five. She will want time to visit the shops.”

  “Very well. I am sure that my nobles will be in touch if needed.” The Gastaps knew a dismissal when they heard one. Both Diemon and Elestrin kneeled one more time, rose, and departed as they came.

  “That went better than I had expected.” Diemon whispered once they were outside the hall. “I am surprised at the rumors, though. As if escort duty has ever been cowardly.”

  “If Father takes after Great-Grandfather, perhaps they hoped you were more like Grandfather.”

  “Impulsive and lazy instead of cunning and a little crazy?” Uncle Diemon grinned outright at that. “Or, in your Great Grandfather’s case, it would be cunning and a lot crazy.”

  “Still, suggesting Corvus? The serving women would not be able to refuse him. I am not sure I could.”

  “A calculated risk. He’s supposed to be on his best behavior until his marriage negotiations with House Arabella are finalized.”

  They soon reached the women’s quarters, where Diemon and Elestrin parted ways. She found Marilla sitting quietly in a corner, hunched over her needlepoint. Marilla was silent, still, absorbed in her work. Completely unlike the little sister Elestrin knew.

  Eyes narrowing, she scanned the room. The high-vaulted room boasted many broad windows, shutters open to catch the cooling breeze and the sun’s light. Bright tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, and ample plush seating for the noble women were scattered around low tables. An alcove for slaves to play calming music, refreshments, nothing too dissimilar to the women’s quarters back home in Gastap, except much larger, and more opulent.

  A small group of girls around Marilla had their backs to her, whispering among themselves while the older ladies of the court did nothing but gossip idly. Occasionally, the girls turned to look at the guest, and giggle, or they whispered just loudly enough about dwarf blood. Each time this happened, Marilla’s shoulders hunched a little more, her presence in the room slightly diminished.

  Her fault. Elestrin had hoped that ‘Rilla taking after Father’s side of the family would have spared her the rumors. Apparently not.

  She quietly walked up to Marilla, and said, “Sister, the light is not very good here.” Marilla’s face was transformed by her presence. Instead of hunched and withdrawn, her shoulders were straight and square, and relief dominated her expression. Elestrin gave a brief, warm smile, then turned to the group, considering her options.

  “You look like papa when he’s mad.” Marilla whispered to her.

  Guiding her, Elestrin looked over the groups of older girls, maidens of marriageable age, and spotted her target. “Nerene, Ellowen, Roselle,” she greeted a trio sitting together. “Is there any chance your fathers would allow you to accompany my sister and me to Rolnburg?” Nerene was the only daughter of one of Father’s vassals, and would agree. The other two were from allied counties along the border. None of their fathers could afford the expense of a flotilla down, nor the manpower away from the frontier.

  Naturally, the invitation was met with great fervor. Nerene, a wide-hipped thirteen-year-old with raven-black hair, smiled warmly at the pair. “Thank you for the offer, Lady Elspith!” she gushed. She was a sweet girl, but with an unfortunate nose. Like the other two, she was unattached; a winter in the Capitol would help to form familial alliances.

  They readily made room for the sisters, and the five flagged down a passing slave, a dwarf woman in a copper collar. Without the platform shoes, she would have been the same height as the dwarf, four feet and nine inches. However, the dwarf woman was covered with sparse, wiry, black fur, was nearly as wide as she was tall, and her face was granite-gray.

  “Dwarfs and pigs together.” One of the younger girls from the group that had shunned Marilla told another, “They should have been collared at birth, if not drowned out of pity. No man would touch one of those uglies.” Like the three Elestrin chose, their fathers could ill afford a trip to Rolnburg for them, and without generous help from a liege would be shopped off to other local minor lords with little hope for advancement. They had already cut off that route this year, Elestrin decided.

  They giggled among themselves until one of them, a plain-faced girl with brown eyes and hair, caught Elestrin’s eye. The cold, withering glare proved that Elestrin was truly a daughter of Gastap House. The brown-haired girl quailed under Elestrin’s look, and she quickly broke the connection.